


Peace in the Night

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Breastfeeding, Contemplation, F/M, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9862070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: Christine nurses her daughter, and considers her face.





	

She is only dozing, half-caught between the worlds of waking and sleeping. Erik’s arm is heavy around her, safe and warm, and she rolls closer to him. He does not stir, and through her half-open eyes she can see the slight flutter of his eyelids as he wanders through his dreams. They are peaceful, tonight, gentle dreams that she is grateful for, and she sighs, lets her eyes slip closed. He should always know peace, always, and if lying beside him forever would guarantee it, she would not object.

The soft whimper of the baby in her crib disturbs her thoughts, and gently, so as not to disturb him, Christine lifts Erik’s arm from off her, and slips out from under it.

The baby whimpers again, louder now, and Christine sighs again as she sets her feet to the soft carpet, murmurs, “I’m coming, älskling.” Ariane is too young to understand her words, she knows that, but her soft voice was enough to help soothe both Eva and Erik-Sven when they were each that age, and Ariane is no exception. The little girl settles, her whimpers softer, and Christine pads the short distance to her crib, looks in at her tiny month-old daughter, and with infinite tenderness takes her in her arms.

Ariane looks up at her form teary dark-blue eyes, her face red and wet, and Christine cradles her close to her chest. Her little lips are parted in the way that says she wants feeding, and the way she nuzzles into Christine only confirms that, so Christine carries her back to the bed, careful not to disturb Erik as she settles on the edge. Her husband needs his rest at the best of times, and even more so now.

Christine unbuttons her nightdress as she thinks, eases out one breast. Ariane finds the nipple almost immediately, draws it to her mouth, and begins to nurse, her tiny hands kneading Christine’s flesh. When Eva was that age she used to give Christine’s breasts terrible abuse with her little hands, but Erik-Sven was not that bad. Now, Ariane falls somewhere between the two of them, and as she drinks her eyelids droop, hiding those beautiful eyes. The dark-blue colour will change over time, Christine knows, and she cannot help but wonder if they will be hazel streaked with gold like Erik’s, like Eva’s, or will they simply be a lighter blue, like her own and Erik-Sven’s? There is a part of her that hopes it is the former. Ariane already looks so much like her father, with the shape of her ears and her lack of a nose and the grey tint to her skin. It is only fitting that she have his eyes too.

Erik has taken it hard, Christine knows, that their newest baby has taken after him. He fears he has disappointed her (he has not), has committed a terrible cruelty against Ariane by passing on his deformity (he certainly has not). But Ariane will not grow up the way he did, so help Christine. She will not let any hurt come to her little girl, will protect her and love her always, the ways she longs to be able to protect Erik and wishes that she could have done, and she has told him this, but the worry and the guilt linger in his eyes.

He thought she was lying, when she told him that she does not care what Ariane looks like.

He thought she was mocking him, when she said there is a part of her that is happy that Ariane has taken after him.

(It was the truth, the purest truth. She knows that someday she will not have her husband by her side, knows that some terrible day this man who sleeps behind her will be gone, and it is some comfort to think that she will still have a daughter who looks like him, for him to live on inside of in a different way to how he will live in their other two children. Her little girl is a miracle, a tiny, precious miracle, and she will guard their little miracle from the world’s stares always.)

“You scare your Papa,” she murmurs, smiling down at the baby still nursing in her arms, “you scare him terribly, but he loves you very much in spite of that, I promise.” She knows that she will never be able to forget the tears in Erik’s eyes, the pain etched in the lines of his face, the first time he saw their newborn daughter, only a handful of minutes old. His fingers trembled as he brushed her delicate cheek, before he turned and left, and Christine’s heart twists at the memory. It was hours before he returned, hours in which she fretted over whether he _would_ return, and she could barely keep a smile on her face as Eva and Erik-Sven inspected their baby sister. Eva, almost seven now, held her carefully and pronounced her perfect, and said with a grin, “Papa won’t be lonely now,” and Erik-Sven, barely three, giggled in wonder as Ariane curled her tiny fingers around his thumb. When Erik _did_ return, he was drained and smelled faintly of brandy, but he kissed Ariane’s forehead and smiled weakly at Christine with tears in his eyes and murmured hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

Words that echoed in her brain and still do, with the image of how he held their daughter so gently, as if he might break her, as if he were afraid that he would damage her, tension in every line of his such as she has not seen since the night Eva was born.

Christine swallows, her throat tight. It does not do to remember such things, Erik a wreck, not when Ariane is nestled in her arms and Erik is sleeping peacefully, but try as she may she knows she’ll never be able to forget it. Ariane is still nursing, but slower now. It will soon be time to wind her, and settle her back to sleep, but first Christine bows her head, and presses a soft kiss to Ariane’s forehead, and murmurs, “It does not matter what you look like. We will both love you, always,” and knows that her words are true.

**Author's Note:**

> For those to want to read some earlier installments in this 'verse, check out 'Twice Blessed', 'Pearl Anniversary', and 'Fateful Night'


End file.
